The Real Thing
by Tom Beaumont
Summary: OneShot. Originally posted for the 2008 Grey's Exchange at LiveJournal. Izzie asks George to take her on a "real" date.


_**Tom Sez: ** Hello again to all my Kind Readers...all over the world, apparently..._

_Man, that new Reader Traffic app is cool..._

_Here's something that I contributed to this year's Grey's Exchange over at LiveJournal...just in case you didn't see it..._

**The Real Thing (PG)**

George had flopped down in hard-backed cafeteria chair, glad that he was finally able to sit. After nine straight hours on his feet, pinging from one emergency to another in the Pit, he needed to rest. Relax. And nothing was more relaxing, he thought as he studied the contents of the ohsoorange plastic tray before him, than immersing his taste buds in three different kinds of pudding, one after the other. He smiled in anticipation and reached for the chocolate cup, and that's when Izzie's breath and being materialized over his left shoulder. "I wanna go out," he heard her say. "On a date."

He turned his eyes toward her. Her cheeks glowed with life, smooth and soft and sweet. And she was holding a secretive little smile on her lips, like there was a lovely taste in her mouth that she wanted to share, but not just yet. "A date," he said.

"Yeah," she replied. "A real one."

"A real one?" He squeaked, while his mind was racing to catch up. What did she mean by 'real'?

"Yeah," she confirmed.

"When?" he asked, almost reflexively.

"Thursday. I'm off that whole day."

Thursday? That's two days away…that's not enough time to plan a 'real' date…**whatever that meant**…

"Sure," he found himself saying.

"Okay," she replied as she walked away. "Pick me up at seven."

Seven? Thursday? A 'real' date? Stop her, O'Malley…stop her and save yourself…

"Sure," he replied, his voice shockingly rich with enthusiasm.

**Sure?** No discussion? No argument? George turned back to his selection of desserts, and considered whether or not he could fit his head into one of the cups, and if even attempting that would be just cause for her to call the whole thing off – or at least give him another day to plan.

His stomach growled, but not with hunger. He pushed the tray away. "Yeah, you say that now," he muttered.

* * *

George arrived at the nurse's station where Derek Shepherd was standing. The neurosurgeon was parsing a patient's chart and swigging his coffee when he noticed the younger man in his peripheral vision.

"O'Malley," Derek said. "Wanna scrub in on an aneurysm?"

"Yeah," George replied absently. Then he took a breath. "Doctor Shepherd. You're a guy."

Derek felt a small smile speed across his face. "Let's just keep that between us."

"What?" George asked, a little bewildered.

Derek noticed George's eyes. He didn't seem to be aware of his surroundings. "You okay?" he asked.

"Yeah," George replied. "Izzie – Doctor Stevens – "

"I know who Izzie is, O'Malley."

" – she asked me out on a date."

"A date?" Derek said. "I thought you two were…"

"She asked me out on a…" He stopped, looked both ways, and leaned in to whisper, "...a 'real' date."

The attending squinted at George. "A 'real' date?" Derek asked.

"Yes, Doctor Shepherd," he replied. "She asked. I said sure."

Derek shrugged. "That's a good thing, O'Malley. Means your relationship is advancing."

"I know, sir," George said. "It's just…I don't…"

"You don't want to go on a 'real' date with her?" Derek asked, fighting a chuckle and pretending it was a cough.

The younger man fumbled and shambled under his superior's gaze. "No. I mean, yes. Yes. I do want to…it's…it's just…" He stopped his mouth and took a moment to find the right combination of vowels and consonants. To his credit, Derek was patient enough to wait. Finally, George spoke again, carefully. "I wanted to be the one who asked, you know? I wanted to have the idea and the motivation and…I wanted to walk up to her and be all cool about it and all that."

"Well, that plan's shot," Derek observed dryly.

"Tell me about it. And now, I have to pull a date – a real date – out of a hat."

"And you're fresh out of hats."

"In a manner of speaking," George said. "And since I don't seem to have a lot of male friends around here, or anywhere for that matter, apparently…"

"You picked the first guy you could find," Derek replied with a small smile.

"Yes," George admitted. "No offense."

"None taken."

"I just need advice. Serious, straightforward advice from a guy. What do I do?"

Derek paused. Closed his eyes. Bobbed his head. Then said, "I don't know."

"You don't know?" George asked, desperation burbling out of him.

"I mean, I could suggest stuff," Derek said. "Dinner. A movie. A moonlight sailboat cruise."

"Ooh, I like that one," George said. He started rifling through the mounds of papers on the desk. "Is there a pen around here? I wanna write that down."

"O'Malley-O'Malley-O'Malley," Derek said. "You aren't listening. What I'm saying is that it doesn't matter what I suggest. Doctor Stevens - Izzie – cares about you, and you feel the same, that's obvious. So find something to do with her that you both can enjoy. Don't overthink it, just be together. That's the best advice I can give." He shrugged. "From one guy to another."

"Okay," George replied, and started to walk away. "Thanks."

"Surgery's at one; see you in the scrub room," Derek said.

"Yeah," George said.

Derek savored a little smile. Then it faded as he considered something. He plucked his cell phone from his pocket and dialed. "Addison. Hi, it's…it's me," he said. "How do you feel about sailboats?"

* * *

George occasionally glanced at Izzie's dress as they drove into the night. She looked so beautiful tonight, bright and feminine. And she smelled amazing, like she'd walked through a field of flowers, and the light sweetness had clung to her. She'd obviously taken time to consider her outfit for the night, to plan for this 'real' date. He, on the other hand, had puzzled over what he would do, where they would go. Only a call from his mom about volunteering some time for his boyhood church made him think of where to take her.

Now he was regretting his choice. There'd been a nagging fear in his belly since he had picked her up at the house – what if she hated his response to her request? This might be his last chance to prove to her that he was the man for her. What would he do then?

"Where are we going?" she asked, breaking through his neurosis for a moment.

"I don't know," George replied, trying to joke with her. "I'm blindfolded, too."

"George O'Malley…" she groaned.

"Shhh," he said. "We're almost there." He bit his lower lip as the car approached the cascade of twinkling, swirling lights just ahead, and hoped she would like the surprise – and if she didn't, that she'd at least pretend to, and be quick to forgive him.

He pulled into a parking spot, and shut off the engine. The colors and sounds washed over them. Izzie sniffed the air. "Kettle corn?" she wondered. "Bells? Screams of – " A massive grin spread across her face and she pulled the handkerchief from her eyes. "You found a carnival," she said, hushed amazement in her tone.

"It's a church carnival," George said, scanning the scene just steps away, teeming with people playing Whack-A-Mole and skeeball and ring toss, trying to win the oversize stuffed animals, and walking away with much less. "The annual Saint Catherine's fundraiser. It's usually pretty fun – I mean, it was when I was a kid…"

"Well, are we getting out of the car or what?" Izzie asked, unbuckling her seatbelt and popping open her door. Dizzying music and other wild sounds rushed into the space. "I've got to get me some cotton candy," she said, her eyes gleaming at the rows of food stands just in front of the Tilt-A-Whirl and the Ferris wheel. "Mmm, and corn dogs. And funnel cake, I hope. They have funnel cake, right?"

George took a deep breath. "Do you like it?" he asked.

Izzie was practically drooling. "Funnel cake? Who doesn't? Let's go!"

"No," George said. "This. All…this. Do you like it?"

Izzie's eyes settled on his. She closed the car door again, then leaned over and pressed a kiss onto his cheek. "Yeah, George, I do," she said. Then, just before she kissed him tenderly on the lips, she whispered, "But not nearly as much as I like you."

For a moment, they enjoyed the warmth of a love-filled silence. The moment ended when George's stomach growled. Izzie giggled. Her bubbly delight added to the music around them. He grinned at her and said, "And yes, they have the best funnel cake in the entire carnival industry."

"George-approved, huh?" she winked, climbing out of the car.

"Yep," he replied, following her lead.

They met in front of the car, and she laced her fingers with his, and said with a smile as they started to walk into the midway toward the smell of fried dough and sugar, "I'll buy you one…but you have to win me one of those little pandas." She pointed to a rack of stuffed toys inside one of the booths.

He followed her finger to the game – throwing darts at multi-colored balloons – and felt his own smile building. "Mm-hm? What'll you give me if I win that great big one?" he asked, gesturing at the practically life-size replica that dangled over the proceedings.

Izzie tilted her head in a parody of thought, then bit into her lower lip just the teensiest.

It was then that George decided two things.

**One.** He was going to win her that bear.

**And two?** He was going to like 'real' dates.

**THE END**


End file.
